


Eine kleine Nachtmusik

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 18:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>'Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!'</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eine kleine Nachtmusik

**Author's Note:**

> For the [12 days of Sherstrade](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/12dayssherstrade) on Tumblr.

Greg dragged open the sliding door that led onto his tiny balcony and peered over into the darkness. At first he'd thought the noise was a couple of foxes fighting - or possibly fucking - in the small patch of parkland behind his house.

It turned out to be far worse than that - he was being _serenaded_ from his own back garden.

Not even his _own_ back garden, the back garden he shared with the five other flats on his stair.

Sherlock Holmes was a superb musician. His violin playing could reach the hardest of hearts and if no suitable composition existed for the occasion, he would improvise one which anyone hearing it would swear must have been written hundreds of years before because it was so instantly familiar.

Which was why it always amazed Greg that, despite his myriad other musical talents, Sherlock Holmes could not sing for toffee.

He wasn't _bad_ \- he just wasn't very _good_ and he definitely wasn't as good as he thought he was after a few drinks.

" _I love the silver in your hair,_  
_you--_ *hic* _your beauty is beyond compare_..."

From the sounds of it, he'd had more than a few.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Greg quickly put his slippers on, grabbed a robe and dashed down the stairs and out of the back door.

" _Your chocolate eyes, your button nose_..."

Sherlock was still directing his ditty at the first floor balcony, seemingly unaware that its occupant was now barrelling towards him from his left side.

"Sherlock!" Greg hissed.

Sherlock turned rather unsteadily and squinted at him. "Lestrade! I was.. at John's and we had some drinks and... I wrote you a song and John and Mary said I should come over and sing it to you."

He frowned and pouted his ludicrously plump bottom lip. "You have your angry face on. Are you going to arrest me?"

"On what charge? Your singing isn't _actually_ killing anyone."

 _Just making me wish I was dead_ , Greg thought to himself. _Like I'm going to do to Dr and Mrs Watson..._

"Under the Metropolitan Police Act, 1839, it is illegal to 'sing any profane, indecent, or obscene song or ballad' in the street. " Sherlock rattled off this fact as if it was common knowledge that he was astonished Greg did not share.

"Bad news for stag parties and football fans, that... But you're not in the street, you're in my garden and telling my neighbours how much you like my hair is only deeply embarrassing, not really 'indecent'."

"You haven't heard the second verse yet…"

"Oh, God…"

"It's all about the curvature and firmness of your _gorgeous_ arse." Sherlock lurched forward, reached around Greg and grabbed a handful of the afore-mentioned body part before giving it a good grope.

"OK. Time to go in." Greg took Sherlock's arm and pulled him towards the door.

"And then the _third_ verse is about how much I want to suck your--"

Greg whirled Sherlock round to face him and cut off the lyrical explanation with a kiss. Sherlock melted into his arms and went blissfully quiet.

"Come inside, you mad bastard," Greg said fondly. "You can _show_ me exactly what you want to do - and I'll maybe compose a few verses of my own."

Sherlock giggled. "Are we going to make beautiful music together?"

"Whole fucking symphonies."

"Mmm, _fucking_ " Sherlock ground his hips against Greg's before losing his balance, staggering backwards and almost falling on his own gorgeous arse.

Greg laughingly caught him and held him up by his coat lapels.

He slung Sherlock's arm around his shoulders and helped him stumble upstairs where he face-planted onto Greg's bed and started snoring before Greg had even got his second shoe off.

Greg sighed and removed the other shoe before stripping Sherlock out of his coat and suit and rolling him under the bedcovers.

"Looks like it's an unfinished symphony. Pity that."

He slid into the other side of the bed and smiled as Sherlock slung an arm across him, mumbled something incoherent and went back to sleep.

 _I wonder what he was going to rhyme with nose?_ was Greg's last thought before drifting off himself...


End file.
